Finding the Missing Words
by Naguabo
Summary: A companion piece to "Double or Nothing". In Philadelphia, Coach Taylor adjusts to a new team in a new city, while one of his new players learns about being an athlete and a teammate.
1. Chapter 1 Practice Makes - What Exactly?

**Author's Note: **This is a companion piece to Double or Nothing, providing a bit more backstory and linking up with a few more Friday Night Lights characters.

**Chapter 1: Practice Makes – What Exactly?**

Ray Fiorentino learned things by observing people. That was how he functioned, by watching and listening. He'd only been on the Monsignor Bonner High football team for a week, but he could tell Coach Eric Taylor was disappointed about one particular thing, and nobody else seemed to have noticed.

At the end of every practice so far, Coach gathered the whole team together. If there was something to focus on for the next practice – since it was still a week early for games – that was when he'd say it. If there was anything particular that had happened in those two hours that bothered him or pleased him enough to tell the whole team about it, that was the time. And then, right after that, even if he'd just spent fifteen minutes criticizing what he'd seen, there was the same parting slogan: "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts." And the players and coaches would repeat it right back to him, some of them with their hand on their heart.

Right then, Coach would frown for about half a second before walking off. The first time, Ray thought it was a coincidence, or that Coach had something else on his mind. The second time, he shrugged it off as part of Coach's personality. Eventually, though, even after what seemed to Ray's eyes like a successful scrimmage against Penn Wood, the same frown was there, and the realization hit him like a blitzing linebacker: there was something missing, something that Coach Taylor expected his players to know and say back to him. And nobody, absolutely nobody was getting it.

If he'd been Joel Bishop, the senior quarterback who went seven straight games without throwing an interception last year, he could have just asked Coach straight out. Same if he'd been defense captain Jay Kaczynski or his own best friend Leo Anconitano, the inside linebacker that everyone who wasn't Italian called Anaconda. They were respected starters. He'd just scraped through onto the squad on a bet and was playing a bit of special teams, plus backing up at tight end and linebacker. Low man on the totem pole didn't dare raise his voice that quickly.

He wasn't a reporter on the school paper for nothing, though. And he wanted to find out, because Coach Taylor had given him a chance when all the guys dismissed him as a school kid who analyzed NFL games every week but couldn't back up his talk with any real playing experience. "You think you know so much about the Eagles and Penn State and every game they've won or lost, Ray, gimme a break here." Jay had said at lunch ten days ago. "You've never put on the school colors and stepped on the field, so all your talk don't mean squat to me. Just because you blocked me a couple of times doesn't make you a goddamn expert. If you got the guts to play on the team, then we can talk." And then Leo had turned around and made it into a bet: he and Jay would pitch in to pay him fifty if he tried out for the team, but if he played chicken, he owed them twenty-five each.

"_Ma sei pazzo, Leonardo? Che stai cercando di combinare?_" Ray'd said to Leo in the language they'd both learned from their grandparents. (Are you crazy? What are you trying to do?) Then running back DeSean Croston had thumped him on the back and jumped in with "Hey, hey, no paisano talk here. Come out to practice tomorrow and ask Coach for a tryout. Make a change from all that reading and writing you do, dude. You like the game, so stop bein' a watcher and get to bein' a doer. I think you got it in you to be a Friar. Whattaya say, Ray, you in or out?"

Leo's hand on Ray's shoulder helped him make the decision. Saying no was not on the map. He wasn't big enough to tackle Jay anyway. His voice shook, but the words still came out. "You're on. Jay, make sure you bring twenty-five tomorrow – you'll need it."

DeSean and a couple of other players let out a whoop and banged the tables. "Woohoo! Fiorentino's goin' out for the green and white! Be one of us, baby!" Leo looked at his friend and whispered "_Dai, fallo per me. Forza._" (Come on, do it for me. Be strong.)

And Ray kept his word. In spite of vomiting onto Coach Taylor's clothes when he asked him for a chance to be on the team. In spite of Coach changing the bet in front of everyone, so he'd be out a hundred bucks if he failed. Even after getting outrun and leveled in the first few drills and being sent to run a mile for punishment because one of the assistant coaches didn't like how he did jumping jacks, Ray didn't leave, although the thought did cross his mind. When he came back from the run, he felt like his skin was falling off his body, or maybe his body was trying to ooze outside of his skin while his lungs tried to jump out his mouth. Coach Taylor took him aside and said "Look, son, I know nobody likes drills starting out."

Ray couldn't catch enough of his breath – or his brain, at that exact moment - to produce an answer to that, so he just tilted his head in Coach's direction and kept his eyes focused to show that he was listening.

"This here's the building blocks. The fundamentals. What we work on so you use it right in the games. It's not fun. It's work. It's self-improvement."

"I can understand that, Coach, but I just don't seem to be any good at it."

"Good at it?" Coach's eyebrows and voice both went higher in an instant. "Listen, Fiorentino, you think I was born a Texas state champion coach, or Croston was born running a four point four forty, or any of these guys was born with a helmet and pads on? Or that you were born winning an essay contest and knowing how to write and talk four languages?" Ray almost jumped. Coach hadn't known his name or face forty minutes ago, and now he already knew that? "Y'all worked at it, that's the point."

"I'm – I'm trying to do that, Sir." This didn't look good to Ray. He'd have to beg Leo's father to let him wash dishes at Da Bruno for a few weeks. Or mow every lawn west of Lansdowne Avenue. And what would he tell his own father? The man had no respect for anything but success. His head dropped and his eyes started to sting. How many more minutes until he got sent away, and how much time until people stopped laughing at him? _Thought he could play with the big boys, but turned out to be just a school kid with a mouth on him, good for nothing but the books._ Ray was already feeding everyone their future lines.

"Your best friend says you think you're slow. Turn that into an advantage. If you can't run fast, run _hard_. Change directions. Throw your whole body into the play. You got big shoulders, use them. Everyone else here's had a month of practices already – I don't expect you to be where they are yet. You know what Coach Lombardi _really _said?"

"Not sure what you mean, Sir." Why hadn't the axe been wielded yet?

"He really said 'Winning isn't everything, but making the effort to win is.' That's all I expect from you or anyone, that effort. Just do what you can, and then keep trying to do more than that."

One nod. Laughingstock status delayed. "Go run over to Coach McCandrick now, he's working with special teams." _If Leo told him __about __that __too_... His legs burned and he almost fell over, but he crossed the field like half the school was chasing him, which wasn't a completely unknown experience. The words "I said run, not sprint!" flew through the air behind him.

"Here's the deal, people." Coach McCandrick was a human tank with thick graying blond hair and a full beard, wearing only a golf shirt and shorts in spite of the cold. "This is Trickeration Day. We're going to prepare for all the weird and goofy stunts that other teams might get it into their head to try on us: onside kicks, fake punts, fake field goals, multiple laterals on returns, you name it, we try to defend against it. And we'll try to run them ourselves, so us coaches can see if you've got what it takes to work a few stunts if we ever need them. You get split up into kicking and returning squads and I'm gonna keep moving people around so you try several spots. Each time I'll tell the units what to do. You will be surprised, just like you're supposed to in a real game."

Everyone's head picked up a bit – the special teams squads were the second and third-stringers, the guys who weren't trusted with the real plays unless a first-teamer hurt himself or made some colossal mistake. Unless they could show some spark that made them get considered for a new chance.

"OK, kickoff play this time. Kicking team's just scored a touchdown to bring them within three points. Fourth quarter, just one minute and twenty left. Receiving team has one timeout left, kicking team's out." He began to say which players were on which team, identifying them by number rather than name and ending with "Receiving team, you've got 51, 64, 73, 29 and Nothing up front. Unless you want to switch them around, you got thirty seconds to do it."

Ray's face went red when he realized what he'd been called. It didn't help that Eddie Maurer, one of his bad memories from junior high, was lined up opposite him. He and a couple of other guys from the kicking team started taunting Ray with "Hey, they got Nothing up front" and shouts of "No boobs, no boobs!". Coach McCandrick proceeded to give the kicker some instructions, but none for the receivers. The kicking team went into a quick huddle and came back out. Obviously, some sort of onside kick was coming, but there were no instructions as to how to prepare for it. The taunts started flying again.

Ray focused on watching the kicker, how he'd move his body and his leg, to see which way the kick would be coming. The way the kicking team lined up could be a trick, or could change at the last second. The kicker started running and then chipped the bottom of the ball with the front of his foot so it would arc ahead to the right. Ray figured out in a second that it was coming his direction, but not right at him. "This side, this side!" He yelled out and he saw the teammate on his left, number 29, head for the ball. It bounced while two or three of the kicking team's players were headed in the same direction. Ray ran right into Maurer's side, knocking him towards the sideline. 29 caught the ball on his second attempt and fell on it. An opposing player touched him down and McCandrick blew the whistle to show that the play was over.

"Nice hustle," the special teams coach said. "95, you see why trash talking is a sign of stupidity?" Maurer glared. Ray ignored him and waited for the next instructions and then he felt a tap on his right shoulder. "Nice block, new guy." a teammate he didn't know said and they bumped fists quickly. It was better than getting called "Nothing", that was for sure. Coach Taylor would never have called him that.

Ray tried to throw himself into each specific role: blocker, rusher, coverage team member, and then all of a sudden he found himself in the offensive huddle – his first – for a fake punt.

"Five minutes from the end and you're up by one," McCandrick narrated the scenario in an edgy voice. "Two timeouts left and it's fourth and twelve on your own forty. You really don't want to punt it away because your defense stinks, but the punter's out there so it's not obvious. Fifteen," he said, turning to Ian Desmond, the punter, "it's your call if you pass or run, or another guy steals the snap and does it. Play clock starts once I walk away, so get in your huddle and figure it out quick."

"Guys, which ones of you can throw? Cause I sure can't." Ian asked and three or four hands went up. "Nick," he said to number 82, "you play protector and grab the snap." Then Nick pointed to two other players and said "Take the ends. You're my first reads." Then he pointed to Ray and said "Act like a tight end. Block somebody and run a slant across the middle. Everybody get open quick." And then they broke the huddle and lined up.

The words kept sounding in Ray's head: block somebody and run a slant. _Block somebody and run a slant._ He heard Ian call for the snap, pushed the first white jersey he found in front of him, and then changed direction, moving diagonally across the field. How far was ten, twelve yards? He looked back and Nick was throwing the ball right into his path. His heart felt ready to explode – the ball was coming, the ball was coming, and before he had time to think about how to do it, Ray had caught the ball and was running forwards. He needed to make that first down for the play to work. Another white jersey caught up with him and grabbed his side. Ray tried to push his tackler back with his left hand, kept trying to bring his arm back, push again, and move forward. It wasn't working: he felt himself starting to fall. Could he stay up for one or two more yards? _Keep trying to do more than that. _He kept pushing back, trying to pull himself forward, to keep himself up a little longer, slipping and sliding, fighting off the other guy... SPLAT! And the whistle blew. He'd been brought down, but he didn't lose the ball.

"That worked." Ray heard Coach Taylor's voice before he'd stood straight up again. "You gained twenty-two on the play." How come he was watching special teams? Ray looked around, getting his bearings, and then pitched the ball over to Coach McCandrick, who proceeded to berate the defense for not having come back quickly enough to help with coverage and tackling. "You don't give up on the play ever, you hear me? What do you call that? He made six more yards while you were watching your teammate try to take him down!" A couple of heads were bowed.

"Second effort's important." Coach Taylor intervened. "Until the whistle, you stay involved. Everyone! If you're being tackled, you keep fighting it. If your guy is making the tackle, get yourself over there and help him. If you can throw a block, throw one. You _never _take yourself out of the fight. Split 'em up again, Rod." And then he walked back to the first-teamers.

The plays went on. Ray knew that he made some mistakes: his blocks and tackling attempts weren't always successful, but sometimes they were. The only time he felt embarrassed was on defense against a fake field goal, when Nick clearly outran him on his way to a first down and he saw McCandrick shaking his head. He felt much better, though, a few minutes laterwhen he brought a kickoff returner down on what would have been a game-ending play.

"Last one, now," McCandrick said. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, except it's a kickoff and both teams want the ball real bad. Figure it out on your own." And then he repeated which the teams were, except that he pointed to Ray and called him "you" as the seventh member of the kicking team.

"I heard somebody likes recovering onside kicks," Ian said with a smile – what had Leo been doing, talking Ray up to half the football team? "so let's make it a trap. We bunch several guys on the right so they think it's coming that way, and then Ray, you dig it up on the left."

"Him?" one of the players was offended at the idea. "This ain't seventh-grade flag."

"Shut it, Rob." Ian retorted. "It's my call and I say he gets it." Then he told all the players where to position themselves and the team lined up. The returning team noticed their formation and shifted three players over to what was going to be the wrong side. McCandrick blew the whistle and the play started. The rules said the ball had to travel at least ten yards in the air, so Ian kicked it in a low arc so it would hit the ground just beyond that point. Ray was running as hard as he could towards where he expected the ball to bounce. The kick was low, so anyone hoping to grab the ball would have to bend down or dive for it. Ian's strategy had worked: the returning team's players had shifted too far over, expecting the kickoff to land on the other side. The fact that they had to change direction gave Ray a couple of seconds' worth of advantage. He caught up with the ball and dove for it, only to feel it bounce off one of his hands. No, that wasn't supposed to happen! He pushed his feet into the ground, tried to lift his body slightly, and made an awkward flop onto the rolling ball, covering it with his entire body and both his hands like he was protecting an injured kitten. Well, not quite, because a kitten needed a little room to breathe and you weren't supposed to squash it. He held his breath, waiting for someone from the receiving team to jump onto him or run into him and try to dislodge the ball. _Keep it under your body and they can't dig it out. _His mind traveled three years into the past. _Do something to get those dogs away, Leo..._ and then he blinked and remembered that Leo was on the other side of the field, he'd been touched down, the play was over, and his perfectly healthy cat was safe at home.

"That was not a move for the highlight reel, but it worked." McCandrick's voice brought him all the way back to reality. "Think you can give me the ball back, or are you taking a nap down there?" Ray let go of the ball and pushed himself back into a standing position. He looked down quickly and saw that three-quarters of his shirt was covered with mud and grass stains. "Get up faster next time. If the clock was running, those seconds you were down could make a real big difference."

"Coach, I think that play might be worth trying in a game," Ian said.

"Next time kickers call plays, fifteen, I'll ask you about it." McCandrick shook his head abruptly once and pointed to his right. "Everyone head to the fifty, Coach Taylor wants you for the last bit." Twenty-two players started jogging towards midfield, where the rest of the team was already gathering. As Ray headed with them, he noticed several of the special teamers flashing him crossed fingers or the thumbs-up sign. Incredibly, somebody besides Leo actually wanted him on the team. Eddie Maurer flipped him two middle fingers and spat in his general direction, but made no other attempt to bother him. Ray hoped he wouldn't try anything out here.

Once everyone was within hearing range, Coach Taylor began to speak. "Gentlemen, the good news is that you looked pretty solid in the teamwork department. But before anybody's head gets swollen, we need to do a lot of work on the basics, especially tackling and ball security. That's part of every single play, which means there's no excuse for not getting it right. This week the plan is we concentrate on the basic formations and plays, next week we go into subpackages and situational work. Three times around the field, everyone, we need to keep that stamina up. And before I forget, y'all have a new teammate, Ray Fiorentino, which means two members of this team owe him some money." A mixture of cheers and chuckles, plus a few slaps on Ray's back, greeted the last part of the announcement. "What'd I say? Three times around the field, get going!" And everyone started running around the field. To Ray, it felt more like floating. Especially after his new teammates decided to get surreal on him. It started with Leo, of course. He caught up with Ray, not a difficult thing to do, and told him "This is going to be the best-spent fifty bucks of my life so far. _Che pensi di comprare coi cento?_" (What are you thinking of buying with the hundred?) Ray's answer was "Some contacts so I don't have to squint out there all the time like today."

Then DeSean got in on the act, which meant a decisive turn towards raucous clowning. He slowed his pace and moved over to Ray's left. "Yo Fiorentino!" he called out and tapped Ray's shoulder with his fist. "You made the team! Lemme hear it from you."

"I made the team."

"Not like that, Italian bro. Like it matters to you – 'cause I know it does – and you mean it. You made the team?"

"I MADE THE TEAM!"

"Whoa, man, don't knock my ears off! You gonna block for twenty-seven?" Meaning himself, of course.

"I'm gonna block for twenty-seven!"

"We gonna win some games for Bonner?" How on Earth did a guy manage to run and shout like that at the same time?

"Yeah, we gonna win some games for Bonner!" A few other players had joined in.

"Awright, now catch me!" and he started running twice as fast. Ray tried to keep up, but it was way beyond the bounds of possibility. As he ran in DeSean's direction, a few teammates, mostly but not only the special teamers, held their hand out for a high five. As he passed Joel Bishop, the quarterback punched his hand and said "Hey, if I ever throw something at you, make sure you catch it."

After the whole team – with about half of the coaches, surprisingly – had finished running, they gathered around Coach Taylor again. He reminded them of the timing of the next practices, and informed them that they were going to start scrimmages later in the week. And then Ray heard it for the first time: "clear eyes, full hearts." The players repeated it back, and he saw the frown on Coach Taylor's face. After being relieved that he hadn't caused it himself, Ray moved on to wondering what did. His most frequent guess was perfectionism.

When he reached the field house, Jerry the equipment manager was there. He told Ray which locker he was going to have and what the combination was, and then gave him various sorts of equipment, and finally his practice and game jerseys, one green and one white, with the number 41 covering most of the front and back.

"Forty-one, like Keith Byars. Not bad." Ray couldn't help smiling at that.

"Congrats." Jerry said. "Oh, and one more thing. Here's your copy of the playbook." He handed him a volume that looked like a small phone book. "Get this whole thing into your head as fast as you can."

Ray looked up for a second. "When did you have time to copy this? Coach Taylor just told me I made the team a few minutes ago."

"He told me right at the start of practice, after he doubled the bet with Jay and Leo. Guess he believed in you."

And that was the real issue. Coach Taylor had believed in him and made him happy. That made Ray want to accomplish one thing: to return the favor.


	2. Chapter 2: Run It

**Finding the Missing Words**

**Chapter 2 – Just Run It**

"_Fly, Eagles, fly_

_on the road to victory_

_Fly, Eagles, fly,_

_score a touchdown, 1-2-3..._"

The electronically distorted voice of Leo Anconitano sounded out abruptly from somewhere on Ray Fiorentino's desk. Captain Blacknose, the Fiorentino family's gray and white rescue cat, let out an irritated meow when his human pillow suddenly turned into a moving object.

"What in the..." Ray groaned, opening his eyes to figure out how to stop the noise. "Sorry Cap, I'm not happy about this either." Then he lunged sideways to reach his cell phone and flipped the switch on his desk lamp before bringing the phone to his ear. He could put on his glasses later.

"_Testa di cavolo, sai che ore sono?_ (You cabbagehead, do you know what time it is?) This had better be good." Actually, Ray didn't know himself what time it was, and then he squinted at the screen and saw that it was 5:35 a.m. Which made him wish that he'd expressed himself more vehemently, even if it was his best friend on the other end of the line.

"And good morning to you too, Ray. Get some sweats and running shoes on and meet me out front. If you look out your window, you can see I'm already there." Leo's voice had some ups and downs to it, like he was running in place or stretching and talking at the same time. Ray didn't bother looking – he and Leo had never lied to each other since first grade, or almost never.

"Has your brain flown out of your head or something? I mean, I knew you were a bit of a bird-brain sometimes, but really... I mean, _prima della colazione?_" (before breakfast)

"I mean it, _quarantuno_ (forty-one). In August we were already at practice ten minutes later than now. If you want to tackle running backs, you got to run at them. You're not always going to be the unexpected guy coming out of nowhere. Force equals m times v squared, so we got to get your m and v up."

"This is what I get for tutoring you in physics?"

"No, you get a free breakfast and shower at the restaurant afterwards. We'll head straight to school from there, so bring your books and everything. _Muoviti_! (Move)_"_

Ray slapped his own forehead with his left hand. When he didn't wake up or fall asleep again, he groaned "I can't believe this. OK, I'm coming. _Dammi un attimo_." (give me a moment) Then he hung up and got ready as fast as he could.

When he came down the stairs, followed by a cat in search of breakfast, a slim young female with black hair in a ponytail wearing an oversized Penn sweatsuit and no shoes moved into a boxing stance right in front of him. "No way, _fratellino_! (little brother) I'm the official early riser of this family and I'm not giving up my title without a fight. What's the deal here?" Behind her, a tai chi video played silently on a television screen. Captain Blacknose watched their antics momentarily, shook his entire body with a quick snort, and then ran towards the kitchen.

Ray raised his own hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's not me, Alicia, it's Leo. He wants me to go on a run with him before school. Your title is not being threatened, big sister. Do you mind checking Cap's food and water?"

Alicia laughed and held her brother by his shoulders. "No problem, Ray, just you make sure he's fine for dinner because I've got labs all afternoon. Get your _mente malsana _(unhealthy mind) into a _corpore sano_ (healthy body) and all that. Maybe you'll eventually get a girlfriend that way." She moved aside to let him pass.

After a quick frown, Ray jerked one thumb towards the television screen. "How does that stuff help you wake up? Wouldn't an espresso be faster?" Some crunching sounds could be heard from the kitchen.

"Body control and concentration, _tizio_. (guy) It's not easy to make sure you get a drop under a dog's eyelid or give a hamster a shot without hitting a nerve. You should try it sometime."

"Stranger things have been considered, but don't get your hopes up. Tell the bosses I won't need a ride. _Ciao._" and he went out the front door. Leo was stretching his legs just below the doorstep. When the door closed, he stood up straight and nodded towards the empty street in front of them. They went out the front gate and then stopped on the sidewalk.

"How fast are we supposed to run?" Ray asked Leo.

"Not yet." Leo raised his hand halfway to stop him. "You're still cold. Let's walk fast until we reach a good place to stop and stretch, like the park maybe, then we get started.

"_Va bene, capo_." (All right, boss) Leo set a brisk pace and they began walking. The street lights were still on and the first rays of the sun hadn't appeared yet.

After a couple of silent blocks, Ray turned towards his friend and said "Come on, Leo, what's all this really about?"

Leo didn't even turn his head. "Whaddaya mean? It's a run, it's a workout, it's getting you into shape so you can play better. You made the team, so now you need to catch up to the guys who had summer practices and everything."

"Come on, _non credermi stupido._" (don't think I'm stupid) Ray's voice went up a notch. "You set up the bet, you paid your share of it, now you're waking me up. What kind of return are you looking for on your investment?" He grabbed his own hair with both hands. "Aagh! I can't believe I said that, I sound like my Dad now. I mean, what's in it for you, why are you doing this?"

"What's in it for me?" That finally got Leo's head to turn, as well as his eyebrows to head upward. "It's not about me, it's about you. If I'd told you to try out, what would you have done? You'd have said '_Io?Non posso_ (Me? I can't), I'm a lousy athlete. You don't want me out there.' This way you actually tried for it and it worked. Now you're playing football, you might as well do it right."

"Like I need more pressure on me. If my GPA drops even a couple hundredths of a point, my parents are taking back their permission. They want me getting into an Ivy school."

"Why don't you think a bit about what _you _want? This way you get to blow off some steam. Play a game that you like. Learn from a top-notch coach." Then Leo stopped at an intersection; they had to wait for a couple of cars to go by before they could cross. "This way." And he set an even faster pace.

"Coach Taylor's a swell guy," Ray said after a couple of blocks.

"Well, he's not going to be satisfied with you thinking you're just a backup. What if I got hurt and you had to go in for me? You play out there, and you're going to have assignments. Guys to block, guys to tackle, guys covering you. Guys whose job is to try to take you out of the play as completely as possible. They're not going to think you're just a backup and go easy on you or forget you're there."

"So what do I do about that, fifty?"

"We'll get there." The sky began turning slowly from pitch dark to medium gray. The street lights switched off. The two boys crossed the street and entered the park. "Where are we going to stretch?" Ray asked. Leo pointed to a couple of benches.

A few minutes later, they began jogging slowly through the grass. "Keep it slow," Leo urged Ray. "Biggest mistake is trying to do too much too soon. You're trying to last longer. And if we go uphill, slow down a lot more or your back is going to be killing you in two hours."

Ray followed Leo's pace, staying level with him or a few steps behind. He abruptly turned towards his friend and said, without being able to keep his voice completely even, "There's something I noticed about Coach."

"What's that?"

Ray explained his theory about the slogan "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts", that there was something missing, and that Coach Taylor was bothered by the fact that nobody had figured it out yet.

"Now you see why I wanted you on the team?" Leo turned his head around to face Ray. "I like having teammates who aren't stupid. Just like with that kickoff back in junior high and the whacko routes you used to run – you think outside the box. But why don't you just ask him?"

Ray let a few moments pass. "I'd rather find out and have the whole team surprise him. No need for me to take the credit or look like a Coach's pet."

"Right, I get that." Leo nodded slowly. "You're the ace reporter, you find out and then we'll send a surprise down the phone tree."


	3. Chapter 3: Build-a-Life

**Finding the Missing Words**

**Chapter 3 – Build-a-Life**

"Finally got her down, Tami," Coach Eric Taylor said in a low voice to his wife. They walked down the stairs slowly in their stocking feet in order not to wake their four-year-old daughter Gracie.

"What did the trick this time, honey?" Tami asked him once they had sat down on the couch in the living room. They slowly relaxed their postures and soon found themselves comfortably nestled in each other's arms. She was already wearing a pastel colored nightgown and a blue robe over it, while Eric was still in his jeans and dark gray sweater, his clothes for coming home from coaching.

"The new bear, of course," Eric said with a wry frown. "I still can't believe what I had to go through to make it work."

"Gracie's only four, Eric," Tami said while she stroked his back softly. "We can't be serious all the time when she's that little. Besides, it was cute to watch you jump and dance around to give the bear a heartbeat."

"I could live with that at home," Eric grumbled, "but having to make a fool of myself in the middle of a huge shopping mall – really, that was too much. Who knows when one of my players or one of their parents would have shown up? I could've gotten my heartbeat up a lot quicker running a treadmill."

"Aw, poor baby," Tami cooed. "My manly molder of men can't stand looking unmanly. I have just the thing to help you get over your embarrassment. Just a second." She stood up abruptly and went into the kitchen. Her husband watched her admiringly and then smiled when she came back holding two bottles of Yuengling beer and two beer glasses.

"Y' know, Tam," Eric drawled as he accepted his glass and then the beer that his wife expertly poured, "I never expected we'd find this good of beer _outside_ of Texas."

"A lot better than the swill Joe McCoy makes, right?" Both of them let out a quick laugh, but their sleeping daughter kept them from expressing themselves with less inhibition.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish." Eric then raised his glass, and his wife followed suit. "To good beer and new discoveries."

"That sounds good," Tami said, and they clinked their glasses together in a slow, quiet movement. "I actually got an e-mail from Katie Densmore – she's using her maiden name again now. She and her son are living in St. Louis now."

"J.D. - is he still playing football?" J.D. McCoy had been Eric Taylor's quarterback as a freshman for part of one season back in Dillon. In one year, his father had taken control of the Boosters' Club, manipulated a crony of his into a prominent role with the team, put enough pressure on Eric that he couldn't avoid giving young J.D. McCoy the starting quarterback job – admittedly, the young man had a lot of talent – and then got him fired after the Panthers ended up two points shy of winning the state championship. The irony of the whole matter was that the quarterback J.D. replaced, Matt Saracen, was now married to the Taylors' daughter Julie – and that in two years, Eric had won the Texas state championship with a new team, while the Panthers failed to make the playoffs twice.

"No, he's a baseball man now." Tami took a sip of her beer and then blinked when she saw her husband's brief frown. "Katie says his dad ruined the sport for him. He's thinking of going into the Air Force."

"Oh, well, good luck to him." Eric said after exhaling audibly. "He wasn't a bad kid, but Joe was just way too all over him. That's one thing I don't miss for damn sure now that we're here – the pressure."

Tami nodded. "No 'For Sale' signs on the lawn if you lose a game, no bricks thrown through your window, no vandals tearing up the locker room, no random guys giving you a lecture at the gas station." All of the above had taken place during Eric's first season as a head coach.

"Yeah, babe, you got it." Eric raised his glass again. "To my fabulous wife who had to put up with all that."

"To our new life here in Philadelphia," Tami countered, also raising her own glass.

"Yeah, well, I kinda feel like we're still working on that one," Eric said. "I mean, everything's different out here, and we still don't know much of anybody yet. Come to think of it, when was the last time we actually lived in a house with stairs in it?"

"Not since..." Tami paused and started counting on her fingers. "My God, not since we rented from Mrs. Cavendish in Portones." She pronounced the town's name as "poor tones."

"Pawr-TAW-ness, honey," Eric corrected her pronunciation with a smirk. "We gotta be culturally sensitive these days, Dean Taylor. Can't have those fancy Pennsylvanians callin' us rednecks."

"C'mon, Eric, it's not that bad," Tami said.

"Didn't say it was." There was a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "It's not bad here, it's just _different _in so many ways that I'm still feelin' all the time. Everything from how the ground gets squishy to people looking at me funny for my accent. Like I'm not really settled in yet. Tami, d' you feel you get everything across to the people you work with at Braemore?" His voice tailed off, like he'd been considering asking some more questions but had decided to stop there for now.

"No," Tami replied with a surprised expression on her face. "No way at all. At least twice a week, I get this _look_ from somebody or other. Like either they think I'm from another planet because of something I said, or..."

"More likely that you had some awesome idea that they wished they'd thought of first and can't imagine why they didn't." Eric interrupted her with a quick squeeze to her shoulder. "I mean, President Compton wanted you, not some stick in the mud like the rest of the guys he already had. He didn't want business as usual. That's what you do, babe. You shake things up. People, too."

"Thanks," Tami smiled and hugged Eric. "But it's one thing to talk to individual kids about doing their homework and thinking about college and another thing to get entire policies to change."

"Well, Miz Tami Taylor," Eric deliberately stretched out the drawl in his voice, "how long have you been a college dean now – two months?"

"That's what the calendar tells me." Tami said flippantly. Then she paused and looked at her husband from a slightly different angle. "Eric, are you telling me that you really think you've lost or forgotten some of your coaching skills because we're in Philadelphia?"

Eric sat up a bit straighter in his chair. Then he shook his head slowly, "Nah, it's not that. It's just..." and then he looked around in all directions, as though the words he was trying to say were flying around somewhere in the living room air. "I need another one of those Pennsylvanian beers." And he got up to get himself one from the refrigerator. "You want one too, honey?"

"Not for now." she raised her glass to show him it was still half full.

Eric took his time rummaging around for the beer in the fridge and pouring it into his glass. Then he got up again to bring a bag of crackers for both of them. After that he half-sat and half-sprawled across the couch.

"Something's bothering you, Eric." Tami said in a voice that brooked no denial. "Let's talk it out. Don't hold it back. This is me you're talking to. Run it out like a busted play, just don't stop."

"Okay, here goes, Tami." Eric sat up straight and put his hands together. "I feel like I'm not connecting with my players yet. Or with this whole city. Texas was home to us all our lives, and out here I feel like people think I'm strange for just bein' myself. I tell my players 'Clear Eyes, Full Hearts' and it bugs the hell out of me that they don't know what comes after, even though it makes no freakin' sense at all for me to expect them to. I don't miss all the pressure we had back in Dillon, but I kind of miss the passion everyone had for the game. In Texas everyone lives and breathes football, here it's like they just play it. Oh, they do what I tell them at practices and our first game was all right even though we lost, the boys took it right down to the wire but they just fell short. But it's like I don't feel that they feel me yet, the way my old players did. And the way people behave in this city weirds me out sometimes, it's like they make a deliberate effort to not be friendly..."

"Whistle, whistle! Time out!" Tami actually put up her hands in a time-out signal. "Remember the Lions?" The East Dillon Lions had been the last team that Eric had coached before moving here.

"What about 'em?"

"Let me walk you down Memory Lane a bit..." Tami reached over and patted her husband's hand. Just two years before, the shenanigans of local power politics had led to Eric being fired from the Dillon Panthers in spite of taking the team to the state championship twice in three years, and being offered a job at a newly reopened school with a ragtag team.

As Tami and Eric recounted the story to each other, they both mentally re-lived the events together, almost like they were narrating a movie. The first game against Kingdom, that Eric forfeited halfway through after the Lions were down 38-0. The players who quit going to practice after that – Eric had approached Landry Clarke in the school cafeteria and been told "I'm done. We all are" - and Eric apologizing to all of them for not having let them finish the fight. The drum of oil he lit up and the old uniforms they burned together, to show they were making a new start. The shame of being told they were playing in the "Toilet Bowl" between the two worst teams in the district.

"It did get better, though, didn't it?" Tami's voice shifted tone as she mentioned some more pleasant memories. The Lions defeating the Dillon Panthers in spite of their field having gotten vandalized twice. Vince Howard being pulled out of a police car at the practice field, still in handcuffs, being told by the cop "This is your last chance" - and then Eric turned him into a quarterback who was now being recruited by all the top schools. The thrill of new wins, of seeing his players bond together as a team. And that state championship game, with the 65-yard touchdown pass that Vince threw to Hastings Ruckle to defeat highly touted South Texas, a juggernaut of a team formed by deliberate redistricting.

"So you're saying I need to give it more time?" Eric asked as he took a gulp of his beer.

"You've done this before and you can do it again." Tami nodded her head emphatically. "You remember what you said at the end of your first practice at Bonner? 'We've got a long ways to go and I'm looking forward to every bit of it.' That's the spirit that you need to remember. Don't be so hard on yourself all the time."

"I'm glad I married a smart girl," Eric said with a smile. "'Course you didn't think you were back then, but that's another story."

"You didn't think you were a state champion either," Tami countered. "Remember that awkward Italian kid you told me about last week, the one who threw up on your jacket? What was his name, Jay Fiorettini?"

"Ray Fiorentino," Eric said. "Kid was so nervous he practically couldn't stand straight in front of me. Showed up on a dare and all. He's got heart, though. He gets the game, just sometimes what's in his brain doesn't go through to his body the whole way yet. What about him?" Eric moved to take another drink of his beer, but then he noticed he'd drained his glass. Then he was about to get up for a third one, but he stopped himself.

"Tell me again what you told him that day." About not giving up on something because you thought you weren't good at it. About that no football player was born with a helmet and pads on, just like Ray himself wasn't born a gifted student. _Y'all worked at it, that's the point._

"Yeah, darlin', guess I just need to work at it more," Eric said with a slow nod. "What about getting used to living here in Philly, you got some guidance for me on that?"

"Let's take the bull by the horns." Tami said. "We're here, so we might as well find out what exactly that means. It's a big city, so there have to be things we'll like – we just need to go exploring and find them. You could ask your assistants or some of the teachers for some tips, and I'll try to ask some people at the college. I know you love relaxing at home together, but let's try to do a bit more."

"You suppose there's a Yuengling beer factory we could visit?" Eric winked at his wife.

Tami sighed instead of replying. "You know what I think, Eric? It's like that bear that you put together for Gracie. You took the bits and pieces and dressed it up and then made it come alive for her. You do that with your players, you do that with your teams. That's what we need to do for our life here, just build it all up piece by piece. We'll do it all together, find a way to make it fun."

"Awright." Eric nodded and then moved closer to Tami and gave her a tender hug. She held him too. "You want to make this night fun too, honey?" He started to stroke her hair softly, and then her back. She let out a few soft murmurs and then kissed him. It was a deep and long-lasting kiss, part soothing or comfort and part reawakening desire.

After a few minutes they tiptoed back up the stairs to their bedroom, hand in hand. The beer glasses could get washed tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4: Applied Research

**Finding the Missing Words**

**Chapter 4 – Applied Research**

At 10:30 in the evening, Ray put away his homework and looked around for his laptop computer. Where had he left it last time, in a desk drawer, on top of his bureau, or on a bookshelf? Oh, there it was: he'd actually put it away spine out like a book, between Victor Hugo and Harry Potter. He took the computer from the shelf and rearranged a few books. Mary Renault, Tom Clancy, and a couple of journalism guides filled the recently created gap. The charger was on the windowsill. He turned on the computer, but before he could log onto the Internet or even check the battery level, Captain Blacknose snuck through the slightly open door and started rubbing against his leg.

"Looks like somebody needs some pats and hugs, eh Captain?" Ray bent down to stroke the cat's back and neck. "How's my furry bud this evening?" After about half a minute, Captain Blacknose started purring loudly. "Let me guess, Mom and Dad shut you out and Alicia didn't let you play with the notes and charts on her desk. So that leaves you with me, _vero, gattone_?" (Right, big cat?) More purring. Then Ray picked up his pet and held him in his arms for a few minutes. Too bad he couldn't take a picture of the two of them right now. Oh well, there'd be plenty of chances for that in the future.

"_Scusami, Signor felino_ (Sorry, Mr. Feline), I gotta let you down now. Got some work to do on the computer." He set Captain Blacknose down on a corner of his bed and then made a half-hearted effort to brush some cat fur off his clothes. There would only be more getting on there later. The cat stretched out and yawned and then moved over to the opposite corner of the bed, curling up right next to the pillow.

"Let's see, what've we got here..." Ray opened his browser and spent about half an hour visiting his favorite websites. Well, maybe not quite all of them, because his door was partway open and he wasn't absolutely sure that everyone else was asleep. Sometimes he hated the fact that his parents had decided to send him to an all-boys school. They said Catholic schools would give him the best education and the best "learning environment", whatever that meant, and Bonner was by far the closest Catholic school to where they lived, so end of discussion. Maybe he should've joined the debate team instead of the school paper so he could learn how to put together convincing arguments without needing to write them down first. No, convincing his parents that going to a school with girls would improve his education was not possible even in the Bizzarro World.

Mr. Kincade, his math teacher from last year, had told him "If a solution looks too easy or too logical to be true, try it first. You might get lucky." So he googled "clear eyes full hearts slogan." Search results: fifty-two million pieces of random gobbledygook. All right, time to try something different.

"Coach Taylor Texas state champion football coach". That way he came up with some more relevant material. Apparently, Coach Eric Taylor had won the Texas state championship with two different teams, the Dillon Panthers in his first year as a head coach, and then four years later with the East Dillon Lions, just the previous year. He also lost the state championship by just two points in his third year with the Panthers.

After a bit of searching, clicking, and scrolling, Ray found a website called PantherTrax that was specifically dedicated to the history of the Dillon Panthers and included biographies of individual players. Coach Taylor was mentioned as a coach but not as a former player, which meant he wasn't from Dillon originally but had moved there for his job. Ray let himself get absorbed in the individual profiles: this town seemed like it was quite a football factory. He started with some of the older profiles, to get a sense of what "old school football" had been like there. The current head coach of the Panthers, Coach McGill, had been offensive coordinator for the previous thirty years or so. Then he started to read the profiles of players with nicknames, in hope of finding some funny stories there.

Among the recent profiles that he read was one on Brian "Smash" Williams, a running back who was born in Gatling and moved to Dillon when he was thirteen, a year after his father died in a car accident. That name seemed familiar to him from some other sports websites. The PantherTrax profile told Ray that Williams broke the Texas state high school records for combined running and receiving yards, plus he scored three touchdowns in the 2006 state championship game, in spite of suffering a dislocated shoulder in the third quarter. Then the profile included something that made Ray smile.

"_Smash's college career was in danger after he tore the anterior cruciate ligament in his right knee during the last game of the 2007 regular season against the Panthers' longtime rival, the Arnett Mead Tigers. After Williams underwent arthroscopic surgery and extensive physical therapy, Coach Eric Taylor provided him with personal coaching and assistance with his recovery during his own spare time. Their efforts were successful and Smash was able to walk on at Texas A&M, where he earned a starting spot as running back in the second half of his freshman season. After three years as an Aggie, capped by a __152__-yard performance in the Cotton Bowl against Nebraska, Williams declared himself eligible for the 2011 NFL draft. He was drafted in the 3__rd__ round by the New York Jets._"

Coach Taylor had to be one hell of a guy to help one of his players like that. There were links on the page to highlight videos, interviews, and other articles. After clicking on a few of the videos, it seemed almost creepy to Ray how similar Smash Williams was to DeSean Croston in terms of their playing style: both of them were average-sized speed backs, who relied more on outrunning opponents and making them miss rather than on pushing their way through tackles. Ray went on to reading some more profiles.

"_MATT SARACEN, Quarterback and Wide Receiver, 2005-2008_

_Matt Saracen became the Dillon Panthers' starting quarterback as a sophomore, after Jason Street's devastating injury in the first game of the 2006 season against the Westerby Chaps. In spite of some initial struggles, Saracen established himself as the leader of the offense and took the Panther team to the Texas State Championship, where number 7 threw three touchdown passes in the second half, rallying his team from a 26-point deficit to a heart-stopping win against the West Cambria Mustangs. During the playoffs, Jason Street himself, in spite of being paralyzed, helped prepare Saracen for the last few crucial games._

_'Jason and Coach helped me gain confidence in myself as a quarterback that I'd never had up to that point,' Saracen said in an interview a few days after the State win. 'That whole season was a tremendous learning experience for me, the whole way through.'_

_One fact that made Matt Saracen's achievements even more noteworthy is that he also served as the de facto head of his family, taking care of his grandmother, Lorraine Saracen, while his father, the late Henry Saracen, was deployed in Iraq with the Army._"

So this was the player that Coach Taylor had told Ray about right before his tryout. He could recall Coach's exact words: "_My QB1 took us to the State finals two times in three years, and he worked every afternoon, and took care of his grandma all by himself, and had his dad fighting in Iraq_." This Matt Saracen must have had absolute tons of courage to get through that: Ray felt humbled by his example. And if he was a sophomore back in 2006, what was he now, twenty-one? Like with Smash Williams, there were links to highlight videos and articles about his games. There were also photos that showed him in his Panther uniform: he looked short and thin for a quarterback. Ray was almost the same height and had to outweigh him by about fifteen pounds.

There was more. "_In 2008, following the emergence of freshman phenom J.D. McCoy, Saracen changed position to wide receiver. In the State championship game against South Texas High, Coach Eric Taylor brought Saracen back at quarterback after McCoy proved ineffective in the first half. Matt brought the Panthers, down 27-0 at halftime, to a 28-27 lead, scoring two touchdowns himself and passing for another one (to running back Tim Riggins, who threw the last touchdown to Saracen himself on a trick play). Unfortunately, Saracen lost the chance to graduate with a second State ring, as the South Texas Titans staged one final drive that led to a game-winning field goal._

_ In 2009, following the death of his father Henry in an explosion in Iraq, Matt Saracen moved to Chicago, where he now lives with his wife Julie Taylor and works as an artist, while also attending the prestigious Chicago Art Institute._"

Hold on a second. This guy was married to Coach Taylor's daughter? Quarterbacking, art, and early marriage, what a combination. For that matter, Coach had to have gotten married at a young age himself, if he had a daughter who was already married. And Saracen couldn't possibly have gotten the daughter pregnant, because there was no way on Earth or Mars that Coach would have mentioned him as a positive example after something like that. Matt Saracen had to know what came after "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts" and what the whole story behind it was. But how could Ray contact him? Coach might not like the idea of a random player contacting his family all of a sudden. The idea was to make him happy, not to get him mad.

Ray did what came naturally to him when he was at home and wasn't sure what to do next. He stood up and spent the next fifteen minutes playing with Captain Blacknose. After the cat had tired of chasing and catching old shoelaces or balls made from old plastic bags and scotch tape, Ray sat back down at his desk Wait, there was something he'd missed. Did that say that Jason Street, the quarterback before Saracen, was paralyzed?

Fortunately, there was a profile of Jason Street as well, with photos of him both as a player before his accident and as a coach afterward, in a wheelchair. There was also a picture of him playing some sort of wheelchair rugby. He looked just as intense as before, if not more. His number had been retired and his signature was now on the Panther locker room wall, just below the big blue and gold "P" that every player was supposed to touch before a game.

"_JASON STREET, Quarterback and Assistant Coach, 2003-2007_

_Jason Street seemed destined to be a legend. He became the Panthers' starting quarterback halfway through his freshman season and completely revitalized their offense. In spite of playing only one game in his senior year, he still holds the Dillon High School records for total passing touchdowns and completion percentage. His inspired performance in his junior year, with 25 touchdown passes and a 72% completion percentage, led to his quarterbacks coach, Eric Taylor, being hired as head coach in 2006. In fact, Taylor had been his coach at every level, from Pee Wee football on. By the start of his senior year, several major college football programs, including Notre Dame, were actively recruiting Street to play for them._

_In the first game of the 2006 season against Westerby, Jason Street was paralyzed in the third quarter after colliding with Westerby defensive back Quinn Chandler, who was returning an interception. Street suffered severe spinal injuries, which made him unable to use his legs. However, Jason soon showed his irrepressible spirit, as he came close to joining the United States national quadriplegic rugby team within a few months of his injury and also ended up winning his State championship ring as an assistant coach._

_During the 2006 playoffs, Jason returned to his team as an assistant coach, instructing sophomore quarterback Matt Saracen in the finer points of quarterbacking. The results of his work are evident: Saracen passed for 283 yards and three touchdowns in the State championship game. Saracen and Taylor both admit that Street's influence was important in helping the young quarterback mature as a player._

_'Someone else in my position might have been resentful or angry,' Street said when asked about his return to the Panthers as a coach. 'Coach Taylor was very supportive of me throughout my recovery, and that, more than anything else, made me keep feeling that the Panthers were still my team. Of course I wished I could still have run out there on the field and taken the team to a championship – but as things went, I ended up doing the next best thing that I could, helping Matt to do what had become impossible for me.'_

_Jason Street now works as a sports agent with Wynne & Merrifield Sports Management in New York City. He lives in New Jersey with his wife Erin and his son Noah._"

Now if anybody knew what "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts" meant, what was missing from the slogan, and what that had to do with Coach Taylor, Ray figured, Jason Street absolutely had to be the guy. Time for Ray to look up the phone number of a sports management company – he'd be calling them tomorrow, because he imagined they worked 9-5 hours or something similar. Lunchtime and the hour between his last class and practice, those were his best bets.

"Wynne and Merrifield, this is Jessica, how may I help you?" That secretary or receptionist or whatever they called them these days had an amazingly sweet voice. _Stay focused here, forty-one. You've got a mystery to solve here_. Ray held his mobile phone with both hands in the least conspicuous corner of the Monsignor Bonner school grounds.

"Hello, could I please speak to Mr. Jason Street?" Ray had heard both his parents – his father worked in a bank and his mother was a real estate agent – make business calls enough times that he had a vague idea of how to sound. _Tack on something to make it sound a bit more urgent._ "I'm calling from Philadelphia."

"Are you a client of ours?" Jessica asked.

"No, not at the moment, unfortunately." _Right, like that was ever going to happen_. "My name's Ray Fiorentino, and please tell Mr. Street that Coach Eric Taylor encouraged me to call him."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fiorentino," _Holy flying rodents on a trampoline, do I really sound that much older? First time in my life that I've gotten mistered, except by teachers._ "Mr. Street is out of the office today, would you like to leave a message on his voice mail?"

"Is there any other number where I could reach him?" Ray was worried that if he explained the whole story in a voice mail message, he wouldn't get taken seriously.

"Sorry, but it's our company policy not to give out our agents' cell phone numbers unless you're a client or a member of the media." _Should I say I'm a reporter for the Bonner Chronicle or something? No, high school media probably doesn't count._

"All right, voice mail will be fine." At least she hadn't asked to take down his exact message – now what was he going to say to get Street to call him back?

"This is Jason Street. Sorry I couldn't take your call, but please leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." Beep! Showtime!

"Hi, Mr. Street, this is Ray Fiorentino from Philadelphia. I just need a little bit of information from you." He read out his cell phone number and his e-mail address. "It'd be great if you could get in touch with me – I promise it won't take much of your time. Please call me, it's about Coach Eric Taylor." Then Ray hung up, because he felt his voice had gotten a bit shaky and he didn't know what else to say. Now the only thing to do was wait.

"Hey there, pal," Leo had snuck up on him while Ray was on the phone. "I was wondering what made you eat your lunch so fast."

"_Non la qualit__à del cibo, di certo _(Not the quality of the food, for sure)," Ray quipped. "Just setting the wheels of research in motion."

Leo cracked a smile. "_Scommetto che scoprirai tutto tra poco._" (I bet you'll find out everything in a bit) "Got your playbook handy for a quick review session?"

Two days went by before Jason Street called back. Ray had already started thinking about calling him a second time, but he didn't want to seem pushy. The call came in just past three o' clock, while Ray was putting the books he wouldn't need this evening back into his locker.

"This is Ray," he said once he picked up the phone.

"Ray Fiorentino, right? This is Jason Street from Wynne and Merrifield, I got a call from you." The guy sounded friendly and kind of quick-talking. Well, having a job that kept him busy probably explained that last part.

"Yes, that's right, Mr. Street." Ray tried to keep his voice calm, but his heartbeat had already speeded up some. "I'm a student at Monsignor Bonner High and I'm playing on Coach Taylor's team."

"Great, what position?" It was surprising how nice this guy was. Anybody that Ray knew would have been asking how the other guy had gotten his number, what was this about, state your business and get it over with quick. There was no big-city hard edge to Street's voice at all.

"Linebacker and tight end, but I mostly play special teams. It's my first year playing."

"Well, you're going to learn a lot from Coach, I guarantee it." True enough, and Ray was looking forward to it. "What can I do for you, Ray? Your message said you needed some information."

"Right, Mr. Street. What comes after 'Clear Eyes, Full Hearts'? Coach looks disappointed that nobody's figuring that out and I want to surprise him."

"That's it?" there was a distinct chuckle in Street's voice. He sounded like he'd be a cool guy to hang around with, and God knows life had taught him a lot if he'd managed to get past being in a wheelchair to raise a family. "Well, I could tell you right now, but I think there's a more interesting way to let you know. How about if I call you about sevenish tomorrow? I'll have someone here with me that can help."

"Would seven-thirty be all right?" It was strange how Street was being cagey, but Ray imagined he'd have to get his answer on Street's terms. Dinner was always at seven, so once he was done eating he could hop up to his room.

"Sure. I've got to go into a meeting in a few minutes, so I'll have to let you go now. Talk to you tomorrow evening."

"All right. Bye." Once he had hung up, Ray let out a yell. "Wahoo! It's a done deal!" Now he just had to go to practice and keep learning how to be a football player.

The evening of the day after, Ray ate his dinner so fast that his mother scolded him about how he was messing up his digestion. "There's no hurry, nobody's going to take your food away from you!" Fortunately, homework was a convenient excuse, even though it didn't apply to this specific instant.

Ray went up to his room and closed the door. Then he checked the time – it was still seven minutes early – and made sure he placed his phone in a spot where the reception was good. He had a smile on his face as he thought about the day's full-team scrimmage. Would it sound like bragging if he told Jason Street about it, or would it pain the man to hear about someone else enjoying football? Well, if he was an agent, his clients had to include some football players, so maybe he'd be used to it. Still four minutes early. Captain Blacknose meowed on the other side of the door, so Ray brought him in and then closed it again.

Jason Street's watch might have been a couple of minutes fast, because when his phone rang, Ray still had Captain Blacknose in his arms. He set the cat down on his bed and picked up the phone.

"Evening, Mr. Street," he said, a bit out of breath.

"Start calling me Jason, Ray," Street said. "I'm not that much older than you are." His voice sounded a bit more distant; maybe the call was on speaker.

"All right, Jason," Ray had to admit first names made him more comfortable. To him, calling people by their last names meant either formality or dislike. Then again, this was Philly, where the most common form of address was "Yo".

"How was practice?" Wait a second, he was the reporter, it was his job to ask the questions.

"Real good. I scored my first touchdown in an internal scrimmage."

"Good job. What kind of play was it?"

"Coach tried me at fullback. It was a bit of a trick play, a handoff to DeSean – he's our top running back – and then he pitched it over to me and I ran it in."

"Awwwright!" A different guy's voice in the background, kind of deeper, shouted out. "Fullbacks rule!"

"Can it, Tim," Jason said to the other guy. "Sorry about my friend there. You are officially on the phone with a reunion of the Dillon Panthers' backfield."

"Hey," a black man's voice chimed in, "don't be forgettin' about the Smash, baby! I'm with the pros now, a high-flyin' New York Jet."

"The Smash, as in the Williams Smash?" Ray asked. "And Tim is Tim Riggins, right?"

"Right you are." A couple of "yeah"'s in the background confirmed it. "Someone's been doing research." Holy drunken ginormous dinosaurs, he was on the phone with an NFL player right now!

"So what's the answer? What comes after 'Clear Eyes, Full Hearts?'"

"CAN'T LOSE!" Three voices bellowed out in unison. "CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS, CAN'T LOSE!"

"Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose?" Ray repeated, just to make sure.

"Right on, Ray," Smash said. "That all you wanted to know?"

"Yeah," Ray admitted. He scrawled it quickly on a piece of paper. "Thanks for setting that up, Jason. Coach's going to be happy when he hears it from everyone next practice."

"How're you likin' it with Coach Taylor?" Tim asked.

"He's great." Ray proceeded to tell the three of them a shorter version of the story of his tryout, which caused a bunch of laughs. There was something in the three men's voices that Ray could notice, though, a sort of recognition. Like knowing – and appreciating - Coach Taylor gave them something in common.

"Ray, I've got an idea for you," Jason said, "If you're going to be somewhere in Jersey, or if I'm coming near Philly, let's call each other and do lunch."

"I can top that," Tim interrupted. "You think you could get yourself over to the Big Apple and hang with us, four-one?"

"Sorry," Ray was shaking his head as though he had someone in front of him. "We've got a road game on Saturday, and my parents would lock me out of the house if I ran out to New York on them all of a sudden."

"That sucks," Tim said. "I gotta fly back out to Texas on Sunday, get back to buildin' houses."

"Hey, I gotta say one thing here," Smash said, sounding a lot like DeSean Croston's older brother or cousin. "Ever since I gone pro, everyone I talk to's asking me for something, favors and stuff nonstop. All you wanna do is make your coach happy. That's more 'n cool, man."

"Thanks, Mr. Williams," Ray said.

"Call me Smash or even Brian, dangit, not Mister!" Smash laughed. "I don't suppose I could make a Jet fan outta you?"

"Nah, I'm a Philly boy the whole way through," Ray said with pride. "Eagles or nothing. You did just make a Smash Williams fan out of me though. And a Jason Street and Tim Riggins fan too, of course."

The call ended a few moments later, with the three of them urging Ray to stay in touch with Jason. He asked Jason and Smash whether he could interview them for the school paper, but he asked it half as a joke, so he wouldn't seem hurt if they said no. They both said they'd think about it, and the last thing said before everyone hung up was the complete slogan.

"_Ce l'ho fatta, gattuccio!_" (I did it, kitty!) Ray said while he fluffed up Captain Blacknose's fur. Now he just had to phone Leo over at the restaurant and tomorrow Coach Taylor would be getting a surprise. How was he supposed to calm down enough to get the rest of his homework done?


	5. Chapter 5: The Words Are the Bond

**Finding the Missing Words**

**Chapter 5 – The Words Are the Bond**

Coach Eric Taylor wasn't paranoid, but he sure wasn't oblivious either.

Some of his players, if not every single one of them, clearly had something up their sleeves. This practice was just too perfect for anything else to be true. Not that his players made no mistakes at all, but everything was going way too smoothly in general and his players looked like they were having too much fun. For instance, when cornerback Landreaux Marquette let a receiver trick him out of coverage and Taylor had him run a mile for punishment, the kid actually smiled at him and said "Yessir, Coach. I know I messed up there." It was usual for players to high-five one another after some successful play, but there were way more smiles going around than usual.

A less experienced man would have attributed it to his own coaching skills and his players' talent. Coach Taylor, though, had been a football coach for nineteen years now, and he'd seen how the same exact people could applaud a playoff win enthusiastically and then fire him or close down his school's football program just a little later. He'd been shown a mailbox in front of an empty field and told of an entire dozen players over the years who'd been registered as living there. So he could be forgiven for thinking that it wasn't his players getting overconfident after defeating the Upper Darby Royals, or looking forward to their road game in Douglasston, which had a reputation for being a nasty place. During the practice, he asked a couple of his assistants "What do you think is up with these guys?" but nobody had an answer to give him.

So he just kept coaching. Working his players as hard as he could. Trying to get them to dig up that extra ounce of effort and execution, to put together that slightly improved bit of teamwork. Like the Olympic motto: faster, higher, stronger. State championship teams weren't formed by being happy with what you had and resting on your laurels. You had to focus on the fact that everyone else was going to be trying to beat you, and your boys were going to need to stop anything that was thrown at them. He'd said it since his first game as a head coach: "They're going to come at you with everything they've got."

Since his players seemed ready and willing to put in the effort, Coach Taylor decided to try a few more things that he hadn't worked on much the previous week. He told his defensive coordinator to try a few 3-4 packages and defending against multiple receiver sets. On offense, he tried a few plays with two tight ends and some crossing patterns as well. He'd seen Nick, a backup wide receiver, act like a quarterback on some special teams trick plays, so he made him run a few plays on offense, because he knew his current two quarterbacks would both be graduating after this season. And then he had the defense run a blitz to test Nick's nerve. Think ahead. Don't neglect anything. Think about what you're up against. And keep trying to get it right. That was coaching.

The strangest thing of all that day was that no matter how hard he worked his players, they were still smiling and making little jokes to each other and all. There was something going on, no doubt about it.

When the practice reached its end, he gathered all his players around at midfield and told them to take a knee. He saw a few of them nod to each other like they'd decided to do something.

"That was a good practice, gentlemen," Coach started out. "But don't let that go to your heads. The worst thing in football is thinking you've got it all down and you're ready for anything. Two days from now we're going to be facing a tough team on their home ground. Nobody ever just gives up a win out of the goodness of their heart – mark my words, they're going to make you fight for it. The thing you have to do is focus on what you need to make work, every single play. Because every single play, their offense is going to try to get a first down or a score, and their defense is going to try to stop you and get the ball back. You have to know your job and do it. Tomorrow we're going to change things up a bit and play against our next opponent's strengths. Stay focused and never let down on your effort. Clear eyes, full hearts."

"CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS, CAN'T LOSE!" his players shouted back at him.

"Wha' was that again?" Coach Taylor smiled and put one hand next to his ear. "I can't hear you!"

"CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS, CAN'T LOSE!" they shouted even louder, every single one of them.

"You guys sure about that?" he asked them again. "YES SIR!" was the unanimous response.

"Then how about you tell me where you learned that," he said to them in a stern voice. Silence.

"Captains, you got anything to say to me about this?" he said, looking to Joel Bishop, left tackle Granger Channing, and Jay Kaczynski.

"The word just started going around, Coach," his quarterback said. "We all started getting calls, texts and stuff about this sometime yesterday. Anybody I asked, somebody else told them before. No idea where it started from."

"Any of you know about this?" Coach Taylor turned to his assistants. All he got was several shrugged shoulders and shaking heads.

"Tell you what, then," he said, screwing his face up into the most intense frown he could muster. "I don't like having tricks played on me or bein' lied to. How about you all start running those stadium steps 'til somebody tells me what's really going on." Some players started mumbling stuff under their breath.

"No way, Coach," Ray Fiorentino stood up with his helmet in his hands. "Take it out on me all you want, Sir, but I don't want the rest of the team getting punished for what I did."

"Okay then," Coach said, letting his face turn normal again. "Cancel that. So how'd you find out?"

"Jason Street says hi." Ray said, unable to hide the smile on his face. "I read about him and phoned him up."

"Right." Coach said and then turned his attention to the entire team. "Gentlemen, do you know what those words really mean? If you stay focused and pay attention to what's going on in every play, if you keep your heart in the right place, with your team, that means that there isn't a single son of a b-biscuit maker in Pennsylvania who can stop us. Let's hear it one more time."

"CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS, CAN'T LOSE!" The entire team echoed, even the assistant coaches.

"Uh, Coach?" Tailback DeSean Croston cut in with a wide smile. "That word you was about to say, we heard it before. It's no biggie."

"Yeah, well," Coach Taylor shrugged his shoulders, "I'm supposed to be a good example to y' all and not swear, so I try to be imaginative. Son of a butcher, son of a baker, son of a bicycle rider, son of a bureaucrat or a bagel cutter, I don't care whose son we're talking about, they are not stopping us! So tell me, is anyone stopping us?"

"NO, SIR!" Came the reply from over four dozen teenaged throats.

"Now let me tell you about the guy your teammate learned our new motto from," he began, "Jason Street was the best quarterback I ever coached, and I'd been working with him since he was seven." He told them the rest of the story: how Jason's dream of playing for Notre Dame and then in the NFL was dashed in a single play – in the first game of his senior season and his own first game as a head coach, no less – and when he woke up again, he'd lost the use of his legs. How he felt responsible himself in a way, because he hadn't made sure to teach Jason the right way to tackle an opponent. And then he told them the more hopeful part – how Jason had coached Matt Saracen on the way to a state championship, and now he was successful in a job that he liked and was raising a family over in Jersey. "So don't anybody tell me that football's all you got. You never know when things can go wrong, like they did with Jason, so you gotta have a plan in place for your life so you don't just fall by the wayside like I've seen a lot of former players do. And when life seems to have demolished you, you need to be able to reach back inside and put every ounce of courage you've got in you out there to make your life better, the way Jason did. Maybe I can get him to come out here to meet us all sometime so you know I'm not makin' this up. And his injury, that happened just five years ago."

Coach Taylor scanned the crowd of players. He knew how football players could be cynical sometimes, but he saw a lot of stunned faces after he'd told them Jason Street's story. "C'mon now, run with me," he said and made his way towards the track. "Three times around, as a team, and any time I raise my hand above my head, I want to hear all of you say it. Let's go!" And he started jogging at a measured pace. His players all fell in behind him. He lifted his arm, and most of his players noticed and shouted the slogan.

"How about this, gentlemen?" He turned around to face them full on, so he was in fact jogging backwards. "I'll do my darndest to make some top-notch football players out of all of you, and you guys can make a Philadelphian out of me. That sound all right?" A cheer and some applause followed.

"Coach," Leo the linebacker, the one with a last name that sounded like Anaconda, spoke up, "Nobody ever says Philadelphian. It's 'Philly guy,' but sure, we'll help you out with that. First thing is to eat cheesesteaks, root for the Eagles, and hate the Cowboys."

"Nah," Jay cut in, "first thing is to learn to say some real Philly words like 'jawns'."

Instead of answering that, Coach raised his arm again. He could never get tired of hearing it. "Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose!"

"All right, I love you guys," he said loudly, "You stay with me and we are gonna have some great times together."

"You gotta say 'No homo' after something like that, Coach," Granger Channing said, "That way nobody misunderstands. Not that it'd be a problem for us either way, though."

"What's there to misunderstand?" Coach asked with a raised eyebrow. "I love you guys, and all the players I've coached, the way a dad loves his kids."

"Don't be a tool, Gray," linebacker Evan Henriksen half-shoved Channing. "Don't you remember Mrs. Taylor coming by our first practices? There's no way on Earth Coach could be gay."

"Tell me one thing, gentlemen," Coach Taylor raised his voice again, "Do you love the game of football?"

"YESSIR!" They all shouted. Then he turned back to face them and said "Gotcha. You forgot to say 'No homo'." That caused some laughs.

"With all due respect, Coach," Landreaux Marquette piped up, "a football ain't bangable."

"You mean you've tried, Ro?" fullback Bradford Banks cut in. "You got some weird tastes."

Time to get serious again. Coach raised both his arms this time, and the team shouted out the slogan twice as loud as they could. Then everyone went on jogging.

"Nice job, Coach," offensive coordinator Ethan Dwyer said in a low voice. "You got 'em now. They'll follow you to Mars and back."

"I think I'd go for Pittsburgh or Harrisburg more than Mars," Coach Taylor quipped.

At the end of the team's run, Ray Fiorentino walked over to his side, still wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Coach, can I tell you something?"

"Go ahead, Ray." he replied.

"If you go on the Internet, you might want to check out _RandomSnark's Guide to Philly and the DelVal_. Lots of info in there on places to go and stuff to do around here."

"Thank you," Coach Taylor said. "And thanks for today. That meant a lot to me."

The kid gave him a smile and a quick thumbs-up before making his way back to the locker room with the rest of the team.

After all the players had left, he noticed that somebody had written "CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS – CAN'T LOSE" on the locker room wall with some kind of marker. And with the way the locker room was laid out, whoever it was that wrote it had to have climbed on top of all the lockers to do it.

Coach had to smile at that. They were really his team now.


	6. Ch 6: They Didn't, They Really Didn't

**Finding the Missing Words**

**Chapter 6 – They Didn't, They Really Didn't**

_May 2013_

How was he supposed to write this? He'd tried the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper, but nothing sounded right to him. He'd tried to type stuff in his computer, but nothing came through as a full-fledged story, just bits and pieces here and there. Ray was a junior now; he wasn't even supposed to be writing in the school yearbook, but Mrs. Kolchak had walked right into his class and given him an order. "You were a part of it and you know how to write. So it's your job."

Alicia was out somewhere with her new boyfriend. His parents had already zoned out everyone else for the evening. Captain Blacknose was a great study break and mood improver, but not a source of inspiration. Leo was working late tonight and barely had time to say hi on the phone. He'd thought of asking Coach Taylor for help, but it was too late in the evening for that now. He buried his head in his hands and tried to focus on everything that had happened.

"If you're trying to write a story, focus on the decisive moments." That was from Mr. Yarborough's Creative Writing class a couple of years ago. So which were the decisive moments of that season? There was one that came to his mind right away.

_It was halfway through the third quarter in Harrisburg. State capital for the state championship game. The Carrick Raiders, a rough team from Pittsburgh, were ahead by three and had succeeded in moving the ball all the way down to the Bonner two. Fourth down and they were going for it; they needed one yard for a first down, but they clearly wanted a touchdown to be up by ten, or maybe eleven if they went for two._

_ "All right, guys, I know we've made some mistakes out there, but that is ending here." Leo took charge of the defensive huddle. Jay was defense captain, but the rules were that the middle linebacker led the huddle, and even in a 3-4, Leo was the senior inside linebacker. "Coach didn't bring us all this way for us to get stomped on. They are not putting twenty on us unless we get there first. Forget what we've done so far, just think about what we're gonna do now. There's nothing special about these guys, so we're not lettin' them do what nobody else did, cause they don't deserve it. Let's hear it, on three. One, two..."_

_ "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose!" the whole huddle yelled out. In the stands, the parents and other fans who'd made the trek up to H-burg were shouting "Defense, defense!" Of course, there were much more fans in blue and gold in the stands than green and white, since Carrick was a bigger school by far._

_ Ray settled into his spot at left inside linebacker. If Dean, right ahead of him, could slam into the Carrick guard, he'd try to make his way into the backfield. Their tight end was in motion, trying to draw attention to the outside. That was somebody else's job. The Raiders' quarterback went into his snap count._

_ Keep your eye clear, forty-one. Focus on your job. Stay in position. And don't move backwards; you've got a goal line to protect._

_ The Raider quarterback took the ball and in a single fluid motion, handed off to Curtis, number 30, his fullback. The right guard moved out to pull and create more room outside, but Dean won the point of attack and pushed the tackle back into his path. That opened a lane for Ray. Now it was all down to momentum and force, pushing and shoving. He met the ballcarrier low, banging into his right thigh. Then he moved up to push him backwards as the guy kept pumping his legs. Curtis was a big guy and kept trying to stay up and inch forwards. Ray yelled "NON PASSI, NON PASSI, NON PASSI!" (_You're not getting through)_ at the top of his voice, and then Leo hit the fullback on the other side of his body, trying to finish off the tackle and make sure the guy got down. And just when Curtis was finally starting to fall backwards, Eddie Maurer reached in from the outside and tore the ball right out of his hand. Ray saw it hit the ground, but he couldn't do anything because Curtis fell onto his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another white jersey – 76, Dean – cover the ball just a split second before anyone else could get it. The ref blew his whistle and Bonner had the ball; it was the first turnover of the game! "Nice strip, Eddie!" he shouted to 95, and they high-fived each other, which had never happened before in human history. Leo bear-hugged Dean and actually lifted him off the ground while they both shouted something like "Bonner Ball!" Everybody was celebrating in some way or other as the defensive players ran to the sideline. Just as Nick Lepri, DeSean Croston, and the other offensive players were about to take the field, Jay said "We kept 'em out, now you get us in!". More high-fives, shouts, and celebration._

_ "Get your breath back, quick, Fiorentino," Coach Dwyer said from behind him. "Drink some Gatorade, do some stretches, Taylor's gonna need you on offense in a bit."_

Was that accurate, though? That defensive stop wouldn't have meant anything if the Friars hadn't managed to score six minutes later on a pass to Rankovic, the Croatian Sensation, taking the lead for the first time. It wasn't just which moments Ray saw as decisive, but which had actually been that for the team. Of course there were other decisive moments for Ray, some of which he'd prefer not to think about. Like that first playoff game against the Penn Manor Comets.

_The Friars were down 17-7 at halftime. They'd made it into the playoffs without a single loss, but if they didn't step up their game quick, they were going to be humiliated on their home ground. Evan Henriksen had gotten knocked out of the game early, so Coach sent Ray in. All Leo's warnings about how opponents wouldn't go easy on a backup were reinforced: it seemed like at least __half the plays were__ run to his side, and it wasn't going well. Leo had to move over to help, or the safety on his side had to come up, __because outside linebacker Eddie Maurer was either too far away on the outside or deliberately not coming into the area__. As __Ray__ moved towards the locker room, he thought that maybe he really didn't have what it took to be an every down player, __and he couldn't even figure out what he was doing wrong__._

_ "Maurer! Fiorentino! I need the two of you over here RIGHT NOW!" Coach Taylor barked out and pointed to the ground right next to him. This was bad news._

_ "It's come to my attention that you two don't like each other," Coach said in a sharp voice. "Ordinarily I wouldn't get involved, but you're making a complete hash out of the left side of my defense. Fiorentino, you're playing out of position. You're drifting too far over towards the middle. What's the deal, you want to be closer to your friend Leo? That's leaving a big gap on the field, and we're losing yards that way until you can get back to the right spot for a tackle. And Maurer, why are you staying all the way over towards the sideline? When forty-one's in trouble, you gotta go help him out, but I'm not seeing you do that. What's your problem, would you rather have us lose just so you can see him look bad? Give me some answers here, gentlemen."_

_ Ray was too ashamed to respond right away, so that meant Maurer had the first word. "He __shouldn't be out there anyway," 95 said, pointing right at Ray. "He's a weak-ass nerd. Of course the Comets are running plays right at him, cause they know he can't take it. I could take his spot, and somebody else could do the outside coverage. Or we could shift to a 4-3 with me on the left."_

_ "Weak-ass nerd pancake-blocked you more than twice, Maurer," Ray said bitterly, and then to Coach, "If I'm moving towards Leo, that's because I trust him to help me out. This guy? He wouldn't call 911 if I was bleeding to death right in front of him."_

_ "The next one of you who tries to tell me how to coach gets thrown off the team this instant." Coach Taylor's voice was pure ice. "Maybe I should do that? Put in two guys who are actually willing to play together? You're both being lousy teammates."_

_ "Whatever you think is right, Coach," Ray half choked on his words. He didn't like to fail._

_ "Let's get this settled once and for all while we're still in this game." Taylor said with his hands on his hips. "Maurer, what've you got against 41 here?"_

_ "He's stuck-up." Maurer said, with his face reddening. "Thinks he's smarter and better than everyone 'cause he gets good grades and talks foreign languages. Always sucking up to teachers for extra credit and instead of calling him on it, they like him for it. He's weak, but he gets his pals to protect him."_

_ "I want to hear both sides here. Fiorentino, what've you got against 95?"_

_ Finally someone gave him the chance to talk about that. "He's a dick and a bully." Ray started out. "Always has been. Gets off on giving people a hard time, and thinks he's entitled to it just because his parents make scads of money and gave him a car for his sixteenth. He can't stand it that I made the team and wants me to be the guy people blame."_

_ "That's enough." Coach Taylor put his hand out. "I don't give a flying fudgebucket what kind of history there is between the two of you, you are not letting that get on our field. This team is supposed to be like a family, and people in the same family don't always get along, but they pitch in when it's time to get a job done, no matter what. If we lose this game, that is on both of you, and I'm not gonna let you forget it. Fiorentino, you stay in position and don't drift over. And Maurer, you never take yourself out of the play. If Penn Manor sees your area as a weakness, they are going to keep sending plays right at you 'til you say uncle. I don't want to see Jimmy Braddock running for another first down on your side. And if they send a tight end your way, you've got five yards from the line of scrimmage to jam him, so get after him like he stole whatever possession of yours you care about the most. Now shake hands like real teammates right here in front of me and promise to step up your game, or you can both walk back home from here."_

_ Ray put out his hand first, tentatively. Maurer grasped it, probably trying to press extra hard to cause him some pain, but now Ray was ready to squeeze back. "You heard him, Dago," Maurer said with a hint of a sneer in his voice. "Man up and play right, not like you're scared of me."_

_ Ray looked his old enemy right in the eyes. "Same goes for you, Kraut. After the game you can go fuck yourself, but I say let's win it first."_

_ "That's the spirit." Coach Taylor said, and strangely, Maurer actually smiled and let go first. "I could bang your heads together, but I'd actually prefer it if you bang theirs. __Well, not literally, 'cause that's a penalty, but you get what I mean. __I know you can play a ton better that what I've seen today, __so against my better judgment I'm giving you the chance to do that__. Now get into the locker room before I change my mind. Coach Eberhart's got some assignments for you."_

Enough reminiscing, Ray thought. He wasn't writing for himself; he was writing for the school. What would they care about? For that matter, what would make somebody on the outside understand what had happened? It was time for him to step up his game on the writing front and find a way to sum up the year.

_THE 2012 STATE CHAMPIONSHIP SEASON_

_By Ray Fiorentino_

_ If the Monsignor Bonner football team's 2012 season could be summed up in a single word, it would have to be "unprecedented." Not only did the Friars become the first Catholic high school to win a Pennsylvania state championship, they did so without a single loss all season, not even allowing any of their opponents to score 20 points in a game._

_ The departure for the University of Virginia of quarterback Joel Bishop, who broke school records for completion percentage, passing yards, and interception percentage, and the graduation of five other key starters led many to doubt that the Friars could repeat their performance the previous year, in which they advanced to the state quarterfinals before being eliminated. Instead, Coach Eric Taylor managed to produce further improvements in the performance of the team's returning players, while also developing new talents such as junior quarterback Nick Lepri, converted from wide receiver, nose tackle David Mislansky, sophomore free safety Justin Giddings, and speedy freshman wide receiver Marko "The Croatian Sensation" Rankovic. For the third time in his seven years as head coach Coach Taylor took a team to a state championship in his first two years working there._

_ Bonner set the tone for the season in their first game, a 24-3 rout of archrival Haverford capped by a 71-yard touchdown run by DeSean Croston. Several other feats could be mentioned, such as defense captain Jay Kaczynski sacking the Yeadon quarterback on two consecutive downs and three times in total three weeks later, the two safeties scored by the defense against Penn Wood, or the state semifinal game, when Lepri lit up the Scranton Tech secondary for 327 yards and four touchdowns, two to Rankovic._

_ There were times when things could have gone the other way. Such as the first playoff game against the Penn Manor Comets from Millersville, where the Friars found themselves down 17-7 at halftime but rallied in the second half to a 25-17 win, with Croston running the ball in from ten yards out and leaping over his blockers and opponents for a two-point conversion. If any game epitomized the spirit of the Bonner team's new motto "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose", this was it._

_ And who could forget the State championship game itself against highly favored Carrick High from Pittsburgh? True to their reputation for tough, physical play, especially on defense, the Carrick Raiders limited Bonner to a single touchdown and a field goal, and led 13-10 halfway through the game. Just like when it looked like the boys from Pittsburgh were ready to break the game wide open with a long drive in the third quarter, our defense forced fullback D.C. Curtis to fumble at the two-yard line and defensive end Dean Thomas recovered the ball._

_ The six minutes of game time that followed turned the game around, with the Friars making three key third-down conversions, including a quarterback roll-out by Lepri, to keep the drive alive, putting on a show of diligent, determined ball-control offense. On the fourteenth play of the drive, Lepri found Rankovic at the 5 on a crossing route and the freshman receiver spun past two opponents to score a touchdown. One more two-point conversion, this time by fullback Brad Banks, and we had an 18-13 lead._

_ Carrick needed a touchdown to take the lead again, and they had no intention of giving up. Four straight completions moved them into Bonner territory, and the Raiders seemed to be on a roll. With three minutes left in the game, the green and white defense tightened up, holding running back Elton Allenby to a two-yard gain and forcing quarterback Jayden McKnight into two straight incompletions. On fourth down, McKnight went for broke with a deep pass that safety Justin Giddings managed to deflect just past the outstretched arms of Carrick's Frank Pyznarski. The Friars ran out the clock and the Pennsylvania state championship was ours! Bonner players carried Coach Taylor, offensive coordinator Ethan Dwyer, and defensive coordinator Nathan Eberhart on their shoulders, shouting "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, We Didn't Lose!"_

_ Unfortunately, in a way, we did lose. Sadly, Coach Eric Taylor will not be returning to Bonner to defend our state championship, since a few weeks later he was hired by Temple University as offensive coordinator. Three Bonner seniors, running back DeSean Croston, defensive end Jay Kaczynski, and guard Andre DaCosta have made official commitments to join him on the Owls next year. We'll be rooting for them._

_ We'll miss you, Coach Taylor. Thanks for leading us to a season that we could never forget._

Ray clicked on the icon to save the file. He felt drained, as though he'd had to go through the entire season a second time. He could write another time about how it felt to make one of those third-down catches, to team up with Leo on a tackle, and to hear DeSean shout "Goddamn, Ray, we're heroes! We're champs!" while they jumped up and down and hugged each other in Harrisburg. For now, he wanted to e-mail his article to Coach Taylor, because honestly, his coach's approval mattered the most to him, more than the opinion of his teachers or the rest of the school.

At a moment like this, he could understand why the Japanese revered their teachers, the figure of the _sensei_, so much. This book he had read explained how the _sensei _didn't just teach subjects or skills, but most of all, mentality and character. Coach Taylor was his football _sensei_ and taught him to do things he'd never thought he could manage.

It was definitely time to celebrate with some ice cream.


	7. Chapter 7: Where to From Here?

**Finding the Missing Words**

**Chapter 7 – Where to from Here?**

_July__ 201__4_

Dean Tami Taylor poured a large amount of fresh orange juice into a pitcher half-full of ice cubes. Then she brought out three glasses from the cabinet and turned to her daughter.

"Want to stir the juice, Gracie?" she asked.

"Can I stir it and then carry the pitcher out to the backyard?" Gracie replied with a pleading look on her face. At seven, she could already control her facial expressions so well that her father had said more than once that "she'd make one heck of an actress." Her light brown ponytail began to bounce up and down as she fidgeted eagerly. To make her stop fidgeting, Tami gave Gracie a quick smile and a "Sure, dear. Just make sure you put the top on so it doesn't spill."

Tami took the pitcher over to the kitchen table, which was lower than the counter, and then Gracie took a wooden spoon from the utensils drawer and began stirring the juice vigorously. After a couple of minutes of stirring, she put the top on the pitcher with a solemn expression on her face and then looked out the window into the backyard.

"Mom, what's Ray doing out there?" she asked with her eyes wide.

"He's fixing the tomato plants so they grow up instead of sideways," Tami said. "And he's probably checking up on some of the other plants too, like the zucchinis and eggplant."

"Why do people call them eggplant when they don't make eggs or even look like them?" Gracie asked in the inquisitive voice that only children can master, and then changed voices radically to state her conclusion. "That doesn't make sense."

"I don't know, honey," Tami said. "What I can tell you, though, is that the British call them _aubergines_, which is a French word that means they're from an inn, and that makes even less sense."

"If the British made more sense the American Revolution wouldn't have happened." Gracie delivered her judgment in a voice that only required the bang of a gavel. "When we go out back, can we let Bunzy out from his hutch for a while?"

"Of course, Gracie," Tami said. "Bunzy's a good rabbit and he needs to hop around."

Before Tami had even finished her sentence, Gracie had already grabbed the juice pitcher, opened the back door, and run out to the backyard, calling "Ray! Stop working a second, Mom made us some juice and Bunzy's going to play with us!" Tami picked up the glasses and followed her outside.

Ray stopped tying the tomato plant around the stake in the ground and looked at the little girl who was running towards him. "Hey, Gracie! Don't hug me this time, I really smell awful."

Gracie stopped a few feet short of him and made an elaborate gesture of sniffing the air and holding her nose. "Yeah," she said, "You really do." She stretched out her hand and Ray took off his gardening gloves and clasped Gracie's hand in his for a few seconds.

"How's my favorite ballet dancer in the entire universe?" Ray asked.

"I'm the only one you know, Ray." Gracie pouted.

"No, you're not," he answered. "Don't you remember when Leo and I were the waiters at your ballet school's pizza party?"

"Oh. Right."

"How's it going, Ray?" Tami had walked over and took the juice pitcher from her daughter's hand. "Gracie and I made orange juice if you'd like some."

"Sounds like a great idea, Dean Taylor," he replied. "I'm just about done here."

"You're in my backyard, Ray, not in my office," Tami shook her head at him. "You don't need to call me Dean at home."

"I'll be starting college next month," Ray said, "so I might as well get used to it."

Tami walked over to the table and poured three glasses of juice. Ray put his gardening gloves in the pocket of his shorts, and moved a few gardening tools around before walking over to join Tami. Gracie ran over to a large wooden rabbit hutch next to the outer wall of the house. Inside the hutch, a medium-sized brown rabbit began to hop around excitedly.

"Mom!" Gracie called out. "Can I bring Bunzy out?"

"Sure, hon, just be gentle with him and set him down on the ground, all right?" Tami replied to Gracie and then turned back to offer Ray a glass of juice, which he accepted with a nod of thanks.

"It would have been great if you could have enrolled at Braemore," she said to the young man. He shrugged his shoulders, looked away for a moment, and then turned back to her. "Monterey offered me a full scholarship to join their translation and interpreting program. My parents wanted me to go to Penn or Columbia for pre-law" - he made a face at this - "and I was thinking about Columbia for journalism, but they were only offering a partial. The bosses couldn't argue with a full ride, not after I showed them what UN salaries are like. After all that, the other side of the country seemed like a wonderful idea." He paused to drain his glass and then filled it again from the pitcher. "Leo's loving your BBA program, though."

"Here comes the bunnyrabbit!" Gracie exclaimed enthusiastically. Ray and Tami both looked around and saw Bunzy running in their direction. Ray sat down on the ground and watched the rabbit run in circles and then sniff his shoes and legs. He offered Bunzy a blade of grass, which was eaten within a few seconds. After the rabbit had run around a few times, he rested his forepaws and head on Ray's thigh, while Ray and Gracie took turns stroking his fur. Bunzy occasionally sniffed their hands, and after a few minutes he started wandering around the garden again.

"I really have to tell you to thank your sister for bringing us Bunzy," Tami said to Ray. Bunzy had been abandoned in a cage in front of the clinic where Alicia was doing her internship.

"Well, we weren't sure how he'd get along with Captain Blacknose, our parents didn't want another pet, and who knows where I'll be living in a couple of weeks." Ray said. After a brief pause he added, "Smash invited me to go visit him now that he's been traded to the Chargers."

"That's great," Tami said, and then the phone rang from inside the house. She glanced briefly at Ray, who nodded quickly, and then ran to answer the call. Bunzy had flopped on the ground in the shadow of a tree. Gracie had followed him there but then she walked back to Ray.

"Can I tell you a secret, Ray?" Gracie asked him. When he nodded, she whispered into his ear "My dad is getting his first gray hairs."

"Well, that does happen to people," Ray shrugged. "Pretty much all of my dad's hairs are gray now. Can I tell you one?" When Gracie bent down to listen, he said "I went on a date with one of your sitters."

"No, really?" Gracie's eyes were wide with amazement. "Alison? Or Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth, actually," Ray said and then stood up again.

"What happened?" the little girl asked him.

"Nothing much," Ray said, "We walked around some and I took her out to dinner. We had a good time, but I'm going to California in a few days and she's staying here, so we'll just be friends."

"OK." Gracie said matter-of-factly and then looked around. "Mom's coming, so if you've got any more secrets tell me next time."

"I'll make sure I can tell you one next time, Gracie. And I'll send you plenty of postcards from California."

"Like Julie and Matt send me from Chicago?" Gracie asked. "Cool!" Then she walked over to Bunzy and picked him up. Meanwhile, Tami walked back slowly to join them.

"That was Eric," she said. "Gracie, Dad's not going to be coming for lunch because one of his players got hurt in practice." Both Gracie and Ray frowned, with Gracie letting out an "Oh, no! Tell him to get well quick so Dad can teach him to score touchdowns." Her sudden outburst made Bunzy start to fidget until she put him down on the ground and let him hop away.

"Aw, _cavoli_," Ray said, "I was hoping I'd get a chance to see him before I left."

"What's cavoli?" Gracie asked. Ray explained to her that it meant "cabbages" in Italian but was a way of saying "rats" or "bad luck".

"Cabbages aren't bad luck, Ray," Gracie admonished, "Bunzy loves to eat 'em."

"There's always e-mail, Ray," Tami added. "You don't even take off your State ring for yardwork?"

"Nope." Ray shook his head emphatically. "My State ring and my wedding ring if I ever get one, those are staying on me at all times."

"Are you going to need me to give you a ride back?" Tami asked. Ray reminded her that he'd come on his bicycle and said he didn't want to stink up her car.

Half an hour later, Tami and Gracie, with Bunzy nestled in her arms, watched him strap on his bicycle helmet. This was a familiar scene for Tami: a boy who hadn't been sure of himself, with Eric's encouragement and the help of a violent and dramatic sport, now with a much firmer footing on the path to manhood. Still learning new things, still figuring himself out, but with a confidence that he didn't have a few years ago. She'd seen it with Matt, with Tim in spite of the troubles he went through, and with so many others. All those young men, previously in Texas and now in Philadelphia too, who could claim they'd learned a lesson from her husband, who'd once been a similar boy himself when she'd first met him.

Ray gave them a quick wave and began to pedal off. He'd be all right, Tami thought.

"When's he coming back, Mom?" Gracie asked.

"Probably sometime around Christmas," her mother answered. "How about if you put Bunzy back in his hutch in a bit so we can call Julie and Matt and see how they're doing?"


End file.
